


Haunt Me

by tweekwonder



Category: South Park
Genre: Ghost Craig au, M/M, Occult, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweekwonder/pseuds/tweekwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since he could remember, Tweek had always been able to see ghosts, but as he grew up he learned the best way to blend in would be to turn a blind eye to that side and try to seem as normal as possible. But as his parents decided to move back to South Park after spending so many years in Denver, Tweek now has to deal with relearning how to function in a small town in rural Colorado and keep his ability from everyone. It wouldn't be so hard if it weren't for the boy living in his new house. </p><p>tags will be added as story progresses</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wheel of Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Random change is at hand._

Tweek Tweak sat on the back of the car, a catatonic lump of muted nerves among the drawl of his parents chipper voices and soft music playing his mother’s favorite oldies station on the car radio. The four hour drive from Denver to South Park had been filled with dread and excitement; the excitement coming from his parents who talked the whole way about how their venture to move away from South Park to the city paid off and how they’d be able to run their small chain of coffee shops from the quaint little town they grew up in and bore their only child. The smooth and calming quality of their voices – Tweek wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of working at a café or if it was somehow genetic – carried out in the small space of their old Toyota Camry they kept for sentimental reasons.

However, the dread that accompanied them, though they were completely oblivious to it, came from their son who remained quiet the whole ride thus far, offering only hums of agreement to their simple questions or comments, not that they minded.

While Richard and Meredith Tweak sat up front, idly chatting, there was a continuous sinking feeling in Tweek’s stomach as they drove through the interstate and intensified as the green sign off the bank read the exit to South Park was up ahead and his dad veered towards it. Although he was no stranger to apprehensiveness, he couldn’t fight the uneasiness creeping in. It wasn’t the usual discomfort; this was something far more potent and more unknowable. Usually trusting himself, much to others’ reluctance to do so, he didn’t feel so confident about the move as his parents did.

There was something looming and it wasn’t just the fact that they’d be moving from a populated city, where Tweek learned to survive, into a congregated patch of Colorado wilderness far off from anything urban for miles. South Park, according to the little information he was able to find online, was a small town. Having spent most his life in the city, he had no clue as to what to expect. He was used to the loud noises of the city, the certain space that wasn’t claustrophobic nor overwhelmingly vast, and the aloofness of strangers who couldn’t give less of a damn who he was or his mannerisms. All were things he knew and was used to and confident enough with himself to know how to be in control of. Learning a new way of life in a small quiet town where people were more prone to knowing what someone was up to was horrifyingly enigmatic.

He thought he might be sick.

As they drove in and through the town he kept his eyes off the window, away from the few curious eyes he couldn’t see but could feel like a crawling itch up his arms. He stared at his hands on his lap and fought the urge to scratch, choosing instead to chip off the already sparse nail polish to keep busy.

Up front, his mom and dad gushed about old businesses that moved or ceased to exist and old memories he wasn’t part of. South Park, though he was born and spend most of his infancy in, bore no special connection to him other than the place he’d be forced to restart in. It didn’t help that they’d passed through a cemetery not so long ago. The brief drive through reacquainted him with the main source of his anxiety he’d spend his whole life coping with, not that he needed the reminder.

_Fifty five million each year, a hundred fifty-one thousand six hundred each day, six thousand three hundred each hour, a hundred and five each minute, two each second,_ Tweek’s old childhood mantra came back to mind. He hadn’t used it in a while, not after years of learning composure, but his nerves were strung and he felt like the continuous sinking in his gut had no end and would carry out for an eternity.

There was a pain in his stomach he couldn’t ignore.

He grit his teeth and steeled himself. “Eight deaths per thousand people,” he found himself muttering, revising the old mantra his former self had used when he was desperate to falsify some semblance of being normal. After all, rather than calm him down, it did the opposite. “Eight deaths per thousand people,” he kept muttering under his breath over and over, trying to calm his frayed nerves and forcing himself to look out the window. Tweek could hear the slight tenseness in his voice amplified but didn’t care at the moment that he’d spent most his time over the years practicing voice control enough that it resembled his parents with little strain of his former one; it was the least of his worries at the moment.

_Eight deaths per thousand people_ , he thought as he mumbled to himself low enough for his ears to pick up but not loud enough that his mom who was sitting in front of him in the passenger seat could hear. His parents were too busy looking out their old town to pay his actions in the backseat any attention, which Tweek was grateful for.

_South Park has less than two thousand people_ , he reminded himself from the brief search he’d done when he found out about the move. Though he’d never lived in a small town, at least enough to remember, he argued the chances of any unresolved deaths would be low. Weren’t towns this small calm enough to remain uneventful?

Tweek tried desperately to convince himself of it.

It was at least enough to bring his turmoil to a faint simmer. Enough to be able to pay attention to the neighborhood they drove up and he found himself looking for the house that would be the third he’s lived in. His parents had mentioned they wouldn’t be able to occupy their old home since it was sold years ago to another family but as they drove by the spacious streets, he couldn’t help noticing all the houses looked eerily similar, as if they were prepackaged and ready to be inhabited by beings of similar oddities.

Tweek hoped his idiosyncrasies weren’t noticeable to garner any special attention, a strange and hopeful though that contradicted the worries at the back of his mind. After all, he was more familiar with skepticism that hope was a strange thing he didn’t trust so much. Or as much for it to turn in his favor.

They continued a slow drive and he saw a house up for sale, thinking it might be it but they kept driving farther up the road before Tweek noticed a moving truck parked outside a garage up ahead and realized that was the final destination. But as they slowly pulled up the curve, he felt a familiar crawl up his spine and he never wished for anything in his life more than for his worries to be as everyone always told him they were: nonsensical.

_Maybe it’s just cold,_ was one of the thoughts he quickly dismissed. The weather wasn’t all that different from Denver’s. It seemed a bit colder for June but it wasn’t something completely new; the chill he felt wasn’t something from the typical Coloradan climate and he knew it. But it didn’t mean he wanted to face what it was.

He spared a look out the window after realizing his parents had gone out the car and were talking to the movers. What his eyes locked on was an earth shattering confirmation of his worst fear. Tweek saw a figure near one of the windows that petrified him before he came to and tore his gaze away, hoping he didn’t give anything away. Tweek took notice of his own presence, raking a clammy hand over his hair and as much as he wanted to tell himself it was just an apparition or a figment of his imagination just like everyone who he ever bothered to try to convince told him, he knew he shouldn’t be that naïve. Tweek knew it was better to trust his instincts and prepare for the worst, taking a minute to compose himself before getting out of the car.

Willing every fiber in his being to act as normal as Tweek Tweak could, he decided it’d be best to just go to the side of his mother who he guessed had finished seeing to the business with the movers, considering they were driving away. If he weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts about the figure in the window he would’ve worried about the fact they let complete strangers with all their possessions.

He hadn’t noticed he had been absentmindedly running his fingers through some of the beads around his neck until he saw a blob of orange around the corner of the street. The blob, he noticed, was a person. Tweek was relieved to see the very real appearance of a person after looking at what was on the other side of the window of his new home, though he couldn’t catch what they looked like as the orange winter wear person started walking away as soon as Tweek’s attention focused on them.

“Isn’t is great?” his mother’s question brought his attention back to the situation at hand. Her usual easy going smile settled on her face as she took in their new house. Like the other houses he’d seen, it was a two-story home with a garage attached and painted a light brown color that almost matched their beige car. Their old home had been much smaller and didn’t have a garage nor front yard – Tweek guessed there might also be a backyard – and supposed it had to do with houses being much cheaper than they were in the city.

“Yeah,” he tried to agree but fell short on the excitement his mom radiated. Tweek was glad they’d moved in early in the morning and nobody else was out on the streets. But it might also be that it’s the start of summer plus the weekend and everyone was resting inside their homes. As long as he wasn’t made to talk to strangers who he’d no doubt see often he felt as alright as he could, considering whatever was inside.

She looked up at him – quite a task it was, seeing that she was a tiny woman and Tweek grew to be a little over six feet, towering over not only her but his dad as well. Even in her kitten heels she barely came up to his shoulder. It was odd and he had some theories on how that happened, but the most reasonable he guessed was freak genetics. After all, as far as he knew he was one of the tallest in both his parents’ families and the only one that was ‘strange.’

“This will be good,” she promised and he couldn’t help but feel the ‘for you’ left out of her statement. As loving as they were, Tweek’s parents believed his sightings about as much as they believed instant coffee should be consumed on a daily basis. Which is, absolutely not at all. Though they might have believed him growing up, it was them thinking he was talking about imaginary people to make up for the lack of friends, which he still lacked.

The more he looked back on it, the more he was somewhat bothered they’d be willing to believe his imagination could conjure up people with horrible injuries or extremely sick elderly people he tried convincing them were real than to actually put some of that faith in him seeing things that weren’t there. Which is why he’s never spoken on the subject for years and he meant to keep it that way. As aloof as his parents could be, he didn’t think ‘by the way, I think there’s a ghost in our new house’ would be a good topic of conversation, so he said nothing as he followed behind his parents inside.

Closing the door, he gave the inside a short onceover, noticing the furniture and labeled boxes in the living room were sparse. Tweek guessed the movers put things in their proper rooms at his parent’s request. He hoped nothing was left behind or lost, but decided his parents could handle the process if it did happen.

At the kitchen, his parents were setting up the various coffee machines that would give any household a run for their money. The fact his parents took priority on setting up the coffee machines first over anything else would’ve brought a smile to his face if not for the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about the person in the window. He wondered where they were even though he dreaded coming close to them.

_It doesn’t have to be an apparition. It could be a temporal distortion or maybe a residual haunting_ , he thought to himself but knew that kind of thinking came short. Tweek knew what he saw wasn’t a glimpse into some other time by means of an anomaly in space-time nor was it a type of environmental recording of someone’s death. The figure, from the brief glance he got of them and the feeling that followed, was well-known to him despite his reluctance to want to have anything to do with that part of the occult, or any part at all really.

“Are you okay?” his mom asked him, noticing his slightly tense stance and eyeing him curiously as his dad continued setting up the machinery.

“Yeah, just tired.” Tweek wanted to think it was just jitters his mom thought he had but couldn’t help but wonder if she though he knew about the dead person. Realtors had to disclose that kind of thing, so she must have known this when they bought the house, even if it was his father that handled the purchase; they did most things together, especially finances and the family business. He didn’t like that they kept it from him, but he figured with his past they wanted to make sure the information wouldn’t cause a relapse of some kind. He just had to fake it in front of his parents and the ghost; the impending pressure felt overwhelming but he had no other choice.

“Why don’t you go up to your room and set it up. I’ll put a pot on and bring you a mug when it’s ready.”

“Sure, okay,” he forced a small raise of his lips in reassurance but before he could see if she bought it his dad set off on a small suggestion of what beans to brew, asking for her opinion. Before he was roped into the discussion he made his escape; he’d be there a while if he stayed and wasn’t up to the task at the moment. Unfortunately for him, this meant trying his luck at coming across the other person in the house. Tweek suddenly though a lengthy conversation over which type of beans, domestic or imported, were best for the occasion sounded good right about now.

_Too late now._ Tweek made his way though the house, noting where everything was but couldn’t find the name-marked boxes of his things. He’d only checked the bottom floor so that only left the top floor.

Walking up the stairs, he thought they’d be creaking. After having seen the ghost in the window, Tweek had thought there would be roaches everywhere, dilapidated foundations, a crumbling rooftop, blood splattered on the walls spelling words of warning or even dust everywhere. So far it looked like any normal suburban home he’s seen on tv. It didn’t even smell old or stale, which made him wonder how long ago the previous owners moved out.

At the second floor, he found the bathroom, spare room that he guessed would be used for whatever, and then his room. There was some comfort they kept the same layout as their old home: his parents on the first floor and him in the second, even if the house was more spacious and had extra rooms and bathroom. He found his room and got to setting up his things, working at a steady pace, but when he got to certain boxes he fell into a dilemma.

Tweek had once tried to convince others of the existence of ghosts, but no matter what books, show, or equipment he used his attempts always fell on deaf ears and though there wasn’t any reason to keep his old things, they remained. Now he was debating whether or not to unpack the things. The equipment could pass off as random everyday stuff or be kept in his closet, he supposed, but the books were a different story. Their unique titles could bring curiosity from the ghost, but not unpacking them and keeping them stored up could also seem suspicious and bring attention. Either way there was a chance it might lead to him breaking his cover, so Tweek decided to take a chance and bring them out, setting them in no particular order on the bookshelf.

It was as he was setting up his closet that the small chill coursed through him and in his peripheral he could finally see who it had been at the window. Tweek tried to act as normal as he could, preparing himself not to react to anything the ghost could say or do, biting his tongue to keep from accidentally yelping something in surprise.

When he saw the figure in the corner of his eyes make it’s way to a discarded box, he allowed a moment to breathe. The ghost had it’s back to Tweek and he was able to give them a once over, seeing that the figure of a tall guy, maybe around his height or shorter, wearing a hat with pompom decal. He turned his gaze away before he was caught.

“The fuck kind of name is ‘Tweek’” a slight nasally voice calls out, breaking the silence with his statement-question. In his head, Tweek thanked the cosmos he turned his attention away in time and the thought that followed was that the guy didn’t sound much older than he was.

“You poor bastard,” the boy adds as he continues to survey the room, taking in Tweek’s things that made him feel like he was being peered into. It was unnerving and as he looked for something to get away from the situation, he remembered his mom and the promise of coffee. That had been quite some time ago, but he couldn’t blame her. Tweek was used to his mom getting distracted, finding comfort that he wasn’t the only one stuck in his head a lot of the time; it was something the Tweak’s were prone to doing that others thought made them odd but Tweek found comforting. Determined to make his escape, he made his way out of his new room into the kitchen downstairs.

It was empty and Tweek could hear the rustling of objects being put in place and boxes discarded in another room, so he quickly reheated the still filled pot of coffee and tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited. “This can’t be happening,” he tells himself. “Jesus Christ this can’t be happening.” He didn’t know how long he could keep his act up, he already had to try to seem normal at school and at work, but at home? This was more than he could take; he could almost feel himself crumbling under pressure and it hadn’t even been a day he’s been in South Park.

In his moment of weakness, he took a risk that the boy didn’t follow him and was watching him come apart.

He was on his second refill when his mom came back into the kitchen to check up on him. “How’s it going? Finish packing yet?” meeting her eyes, he saw the soft gaze of her hazel eyes much like his that showed off her concern over him. It felt so soft that in that moment Tweek wanted to tell her the truth of the boy in the house and that he still saw ghosts. That he never stopped seeing them because they were real and they were everywhere.

But instead he just gave her a tightlipped nod. “It’s fine, I’m almost done.”

Half expecting her to just take it and go back to setting the house, his mom sat in the seat next to him on the table, facing him. “I know this is different and that you’re probably anxious about living somewhere you have no memory of but I want to say thank you,” she runs her hand through his hair, tucking the long strands behind his ear the way she constantly used to when he was younger and had episodes. The touch was lighter than his and the hand smaller but incredibly soothing that he wanted to curl into her even if it would be a little awkward now they weren’t the same height.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset about that,” he tells her and he means it. He wouldn’t have minded South Park if it weren’t for his ability and how he had to hide it all the time. “Really, I’m just tired. I know this means a lot to you guys but I’m fine, you don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll always worry about you. But if you don’t want to talk now, that’s okay,” she reaches to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll go to the store to make dinner and maybe dessert. I’ll make your favorite.”

“Thanks, mom,” he offers gently as she makes her way back to his dad.

Feeling calmer than he was before, he heads back into his room to finish setting up after finishing his cup. The work is easy since there’s not much he owns and even though he can feel a slight temperature decrease in the room, he continues his work, successfully ignoring the faint stare he can feel at his back. After a while he manages to finish everything and even blocking out the audience of one that was there before. Tweek thinks the boy might have went away after noticing he couldn’t really see him from the corner of his eyes anymore until he hears a low “Can you hear me?”

Tweek didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t to be addressed so directly. The question from the nasally boy sounded curious, an actual question instead of a statement like before, and Tweek thought he could hear a tinge of hope or something of that caliber coming from him. Although he knew nothing of the dead boy with the hat, a brief thought came to him that maybe that much emotion was unusual for him to express and by doing so to Tweek, a stranger living in the house he used to live in, was enough to make Tweek feel like he should say something back. To confirm to the boy that he wasn’t alone.

But he didn’t. Tweek said nothing and the boy scoffed at himself.

“Yeah. Didn’t thinks so.”

The boy’s comment sounded so dismissing to Tweek’s ears. Dismissing of his own self and ludicrous question because who could possibly hear the dead that still lingered? But Tweek wasn’t anyone and he made up his mind to try to close off that side of himself that used to try desperately to convince others was truthful. All it got him were insults and doctor’s visits. Even after giving up he was followed by his reputation as a weird kid who talked to ghosts. He wouldn’t have minded having no one close to him if it was just because of his mannerisms, but to know it was because it was some part of him everyone was convinced was delusional was upsetting. It caused him so much trouble before to try to get his classmates, his neighbors, his _parents_ to see things through his eyes that it wasn’t worth the energy. It wasn’t worth the disappointment.

_Never again,_ Tweek decided. He couldn’t know that much about the boy from his question and dismissal. He was a stranger Tweek had to learn to steer clear of. Only it would be challenging trying to stay away from a dead someone he was meant to live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by many fanfics of ghost craig and iron-dude's drawings of ghost craig. i've had this idea since april and until now i get around to it. don't know how often i'll get to write but hopefully i go through with it, i've got the story planned until the end even if it's a bit vague.
> 
> craig's deader than my chemical romance (*gross sobbing*)


	2. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _An ending that makes transformation possible._

For the past two weeks Tweek had tried keeping himself as busy as he could, going early in the morning to late in the evenings to help his parents organize the shop in town. They’d gotten a space near a wide road of other businesses lined up and spread across the street to set up their third Tweek Bros., the other two situated back in Denver. So far they’d made pretty good progress and his parents had left some decisions to him, which he hesitantly took them up on. Mainly he preferred to keep to setting up, keeping the art house type of style the other two stores from their chain had with furniture they got from one of the local antique’s shop further up the street, per his parents suggestion.

Knitts’ Antiques, much like any other business in South Park with the exception of few bigger chain stores, had been a small family-run store with trinkets and furnishing that seemed like it’d been in families for generations, well kept and still holding on. It had been a quaint little shop run by a small soft-spoken blonde woman, much like Tweek’s mom that he’d felt at ease when he’d stepped in with his mother. On it’s own the shop had seemed relatively smaller compared to it’s neighbors but stepping inside one found themselves with a myriad of items to look at all displayed, hung, or arranged on what appeared like every inch of square feet. No stranger to clutter, Tweek didn’t feel fazed navigating through the sea of floral patterned furniture and glass and porcelain decorations, though he was overly cautious of where he stepped and the placement of his arms.

While he looked around for the items they needed the woman who ran the store had talked his mom up, catching up on the past twelve years since his family had moved away. The woman, Mr. Knitts apparently, had been an old friend of his parents. Not surprising at all.

Throughout the past few weeks they’d been getting visits or running into his parents old friends, many which left Tweek feeling timid in the company of. The adults, most who had children of their own his age, made comments on how he’d grown, how handsome he was, joked about how he passed his parents height-wise, and recounted memories from when he was a toddler, transitioning to how their own kids would be delighted to get to know him and how they would be great friends by the time school rolled around.

The sentiment was nice but Tweek felt awkward so he’d just politely nod and thank them.

Up until now he had only been subjected to greeting his parents old friends instead of being forced to go to dinner at any of their houses, which there were offers but had been turned down due to their busy schedules. So instead many of the short visits to welcome them to the neighborhood came with offerings in the form of bottled wine or some sort of dish big enough to feed a family of four. One more than they had. Tweek was tired of eating casseroles made by people he didn’t know but at least there was a reassurance the attention was short lived. But now that they were practically done with the set up and close to their opening the chance of being made to go to a stranger’s house and maybe being forced to talk to their child his age wasn’t a situation he wanted to be put in.

He hadn’t even seen any other sixteen/seventeen year olds around town, not that he’d been trying to. Mostly he saw younger kids playing outside whenever they’d drive to the coffee shop or he’d see young teenagers, maybe a couple years younger than he was, from the windows of the store. Sometimes they’d peer into the shop, trying to get a glance of who had moved in but he made sure to look away when that happened. Or stay as far away from being seen. Even the neighbors that came over bearing gifts came without their kids, which he was silently appreciative of.

Tweek wasn’t prepared yet to talk to other people besides the casual greeting or short answer he gave to his parents’ company. He was barely beginning to get the feel for the town and was busy keeping his act at home that getting the attention of other teens his age range was far from his needs.

Even as he’d gone out the back of the café to wash the couch they’d bought from Knitts’ Antiques he kept his gaze on his job, intent on the task at hand which resulted in washing the couch four times. It wasn’t necessary, but he felt wary of where the antiquated couch had been before being bought since he had decided when he chose it that it would be what he would be sleeping on for a while. Sleep was hard to come by since he was always on guard and careful not to falter since the ghost boy could appear at any time.

Tweek had seen him around the house various times and on some occasions it seemed like the boy had been keeping his eye on him as well, which left Tweek little time to feel at ease. Whenever he was at home, he’d just stare at the oscillating fan in his room, read, draw, listen to music, or hang around his mom; anything to keep occupied. He would feel the boy’s presence in the room but would pretend to not notice. Overall, Tweek felt assured his act was keeping up so far since years of keeping up a façade resulted in pretty good acting skills. However, it was a set of circumstances completely new to him that he’d be lying if he were to say he wasn’t scared on some minute level.

Paranoia and fear were different to Tweek. One would say the two went together but for him, paranoia had been a constant in his life, something mundane that he’d become accustomed to feeling. Fear sometimes followed that constant. It was doubting your own place, being left alone when everything teetered and constricted, feeling vivid crawling inside his anatomy. Fear was abysmal and feeling it, even on a micro level, was distressing.

Never has he seen a spirit in his own house, much less one that was within its right mind. It was a bit perturbing to live in such close quarters with someone so close in age that passed away there, probably even in his room, but he tried not to think on it so much.

_Tried_ , much to no avail. Practically all his time was spent revolving around staying away from the boy that it was clear his life in South Park revolved around him that it was near impossible _not_ to think of him. Even though it didn’t bother him in the slightest, the boy never tried talking to him since that one time and Tweek didn’t feel reassured about it; he felt anxious of every move he made around the boy.

Needless to say, Tweek was tired and took few short naps on the floral patterned sofa he’d arranged on the employee break room back at the coffeehouse. He had been glad he’d taken the time to scrub it up and down until his hands were red and chafed and fingers trembled from exertion. Not as ideal as trying to sleep on a bed, but the piece of furniture was comfortable enough to doze off on as his parents dealt with other business concerning the new addition to their small chain.

It was a bit unusual sleeping in the back room of the shop. Tweek was used to the smell of coffee beans at home and at the other stores back in Denver. Even his clothes had a lingering smell of coffee, a trait he attributed to his parents at a young age and had grown into as he grew older. It didn’t take long for the smell to attach to their new house either; he couldn’t even remember how the second shop his parents opened up when he was ten years old smelled. His parents and him placed priority over finishing the set up and other managing that they haven’t had the time to run the machines and make any type of their specialty drinks. It still smelled like a stale nothing and it was really bizarre. It’s always smelled like some sort of beans wherever he felt most comfortable.

But it wasn’t like he had many options, so Tweek managed with what he had.

Although he knew his parents were concerned about his choice in sleeping habits – not that they’d ever been good anyways what with the insomnia he’s had since his childhood – but he’d given them the excuse that it would take time to get used to a new house, saying it was different and hard to sleep without all the noise he was used to hearing even at night. The excuse, though completely true on some level, was reasonable enough that they let him sleep in the break room while they continued the finishing touches but as soon as they would head back home he tried to find other means of keeping busy until the next morning.

A small part of him was looking forward to the start of the school year where he could waste most his time away from home even though the majority of him was anxious about starting his senior year in a completely new environment. There were factors he had to take into account before he was even close to being prepared for the start of school in the fall. Small town schools were bound to be exceptionally smaller with people more close-knit than in cities. South Park, after all had a population microscopic in size to most large cities so he couldn’t exactly expect to keep going by unnoticed. He felt like he stuck out every time he left the house. It had been easier back where more people meant he was less likely to stick out so much but at a small town, one his parents used to live at and suddenly came back to, he was bound to attract attention sooner or later.

It was troubling trying to juggle everything going on in his life that his skin felt weird and scalp felt prickly and he had to keep from dragging his nails on his person most of the time. Idle hands was an expression alien to him.

. . .

Sitting on his bedroom floor with his journal on top of his crossed legs and his back to the open window above, Tweek tried his best to transfer his intentions onto the open bound pages. The pages felt worn from previous drawings, the leather broken in and soft from being used many times, and marks where his short trimmed nails sometimes dug into the cover could be seen sparsely scattered. The delicate and concentrated motions of his pencil were strange on his still sore fingertips but he didn’t pay it any mind.

Today was one of those silent unanimous agreements he and his parents had where time alone was sought out. His dad had gone to test the utilities were working properly back at Tweek Bros. and his mom was in her room downstairs, most likely painting. He could hear her music through the floor faintly.

The Tweaks had always been a curious family to many, despite the eccentricities of the younger Tweak. Even though coffee was his family’s livelihood, Tweek’s dad was completely immersed in everything about the drink that it was borderline obsessive though Tweek never saw it as anything but normal. His mom was more like him and was able to relate to her much easier than with his dad. Except for his sensitivity to the paranormal, Meredith and Tweek Tweak were cut from the same cloth. She knew how best to approach and care for him when his meds failed because she’d had a similar upbringing. The possibility he wouldn’t become his issues and be able to live a somewhat normal life one day was something foreign to Tweek but he couldn’t help but feel inclined to the idea, seeing that he had an example from in his mother.

Which is why it was easier to picture her in front of a canvas most likely depicting a scene from mythology or scenery from different parts of the globe, swaying to the sounds of late 50s music because Tweek was a weird parallel, sitting in his room with odd supernatural paraphernalia hidden among the mix of other things in only an order Tweek understood, sketching to the calm nippy breeze of fresh mountain air expelling the scent of smoke from his room.

The cool floor was hard under him and to his side was an empty mug with a cigarette butt thrown in. Usually Tweek didn’t like to smoke so often; he knew what it’d do to his organs from prolonged use but the momentary relief of being in control of some aspect of himself was enough that he indulged the nasty habit once in a while. It had been an exerting few weeks since moving in besides settling and helping with the business. A few days ago was his first appointment with his new doctor to get things settled in and get his prescriptions in order that it had been one of the things outside his immediate problems he didn’t enjoy doing. _Act normal_ was a reminder he would think to himself as if thinking it over and over would make it true, even if it was just a formality he went to the doctor’s for.

Tweek hoped nothing changed with his recipe and wouldn’t have to go through a new set of medication any time soon. He especially didn’t like those that intensified and brought his libido out of whack. It would be difficult trying to find a method of expelling hormones now that he wasn’t alone in his room or house and the appearances of his ghostly roommate – if he could call him that – were unpredictable.

Trying his luck at taking care of certain _situations_ that would inevitably arise with or without the help of new medication would be hard. Plus he hadn’t been out and met people, which usually is required when seeking someone out for certain types of things. Not that he was expecting something like that to happen in such a short amount of time anyways. He was had some experience but was not an expert.

Shading in with a light hand, Tweek was trying to the best of his ability to capture the ghost boy’s features as close as he could. Despite the obvious distinction of injuries that would give off ghoulish vibes, there was a transparence to spirits as if looking at an old faded photograph, showing only a lackluster version of the person they once were.

Currently Tweek was preoccupied with trying to find the right way to apply pressure to shade the ghost boy’s eyes. He had not been able to come close enough to properly get a good look at him but what he could pick up from side-eyed glances were high set facial features on a boyish face and tufts of hair peeking out that seemed like they were dark. The eyes were always an ambiguous matter to him; color was always devoid and barely visible that Tweek was left to wonder what the boy used to look like when he was alive.

Tweek was so caught up in his work that he didn’t fully process the minor drop in degrees. Truly, a big slip-up on his part.

“So you _can_ see me,” a voice cut into the silence, jarring Tweek out of his task. Tweek’s head shot up, to the source of the voice only to find the same pair of eyes he’d been trying to remember seconds ago.

At first Tweek thought he was looking into a tulpa, a mental projection he’d created from his thoughts. _That has to be it_ , he thought fleetingly at the sight of the body crouching over him. Tweek had been concentrating hard on the boy for the past half hour and less intensely throughout the past few weeks so it made sense if what he was looking at was just an entity come to being from his mental power. But just as he though it he dismissed the notion. Tweek knew the boy in front of him was a ghost; he’d heard him clear as day and had confirmed the boy was in fact a ghost the day he moved in – there was no denying it.

Tweek felt the world tilt off its axis. He’d been found out and it was anticlimactic as it was disorienting.

Looking at the ghost boy closely, he was able to notice things now that he could see him better.

The boy had no visible injuries but did appear more washed out than normal (or as normal for a spirit) and Tweek speculated it wasn’t just if he was once fair skinned. _Maybe from his cause of death,_ he thought aimlessly. It left him wondering how he looked like when alive considering the lack of pigment in his complexion; even his eyes looked lighter than the usual discoloring that he though they must’ve once been a pale tint of color.

“How’d you die?” Tweek blurts out thoughtlessly before he can find his bearings and take in the situation.

“Wow. You ignore me for who knows how long and the first thing you say to me is ask how I died,” the boy sits on the ground in front of him. “That was a dick move, by the way. Ignoring me.”

Tweek wanted to ask how he wasn’t bothered that he could see him but couldn’t find his tongue. It was all too sudden, two measly weeks, and Tweek wasn’t all too sure it was really true. The boy was acting as if something inconsequential just happened. As if everything Tweek had spent years building up and making sure was solid hadn’t just crumbled before his eyes.

“Y’know, I had my doubts. The weird books and the way you sometimes tense up whenever I’m around were pretty incriminating. It’s subtle, really. You hide it well but there have been moments. Guess all it took was the right circumstances. You look like shit, by the way,” the boy says matter of factly. Tweek knew what he was referring to. Dark circles slightly more prominent than usual veiled his eyes and his hair was messy from running his hands through and forgetting to brush it. Overall, Tweek thought he looked more like he did when he was younger, before practicing self-control but he’s looked much worse before; however, that was something he wasn’t about to tell the boy. If he could bring himself to speak again, that is.

The boy glances to Tweek’s side, past the mug with the butt at the bottom, to the forgotten apple Tweek was eating some time ago. He’d eaten three bites before he unknowingly abandoned it in favor of trying to make progress on the ghost boy’s portrait. Of course, what he didn’t forget were the hot drink and cigarette but he couldn’t help forgetting things like that sometimes. Besides making him less jittery, his medication decreases his appetite that he compensates with taking supplements.

On the bitten parts the apple was browning from having been forgotten so long. The boy looked away.

“You’re taking this well,” Tweek finally pointed out. He didn’t know if death made staggering moments such as this one seem uneventful or if maybe that was just the type of person the boy remained.

“I’m dead, or supposed to be. Not whatever this bullshit is so yeah you can say I’m taking having some guy move into my room who can see ghosts and who’s been purposely ignoring me well,” he rolled his eyes and Tweek was too fixated in the action to answer; since his pre-adolescence he hadn’t tried talking to a spirit. Doing so now – much less with a guy so close to his own age – was very strange, especially because he wasn’t _trying_ to talk to the boy but couldn’t exactly stop from doing so now that it was happening. The action seemed too normal, too calm that Tweek didn’t know how it would be this easy to break from the self-imposed norm he set up.

“Do you know how boring it is to be dead? Hearing a family was going to move in wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, neither was hearing I’d be surprised by the change. I’m going to kill Kenny,” he continued but the second half was said low enough that Tweek couldn’t catch what he said. “What are you doing anyway. Why were you drawing me.”

“I uh, was writing notes and drawing your profile.”

“Notes.”

“Yeah.” The boy raises his eyebrow in a silent question. “About stuff you do,” Tweek tries to further explain as he nervously flips through the journal in his lap, pages shuffling and catching brief glimpses of past ghosts he’s seen and catalogued – his own morbid version of pressing flowers.

One of the habits he picked up at a young age was to record his sightings on page, something he kept on doing even after resigning trying to prove the existence of the spiritual world. Some of the faces he’s pressed onto journals were unstable, maybe a result of not having died completely. Tweek would hear them speaking a phrase or question over and over, unaware of their condition and surroundings. There was a somberness that followed whenever he came across spirits like that and he managed by drawing them as they appeared dead, even as graphic as they were, and writing whatever he could even if the only thing he was able to jot down were unimportant things.

It was still something.

“Let me see,” the boy held out his hand and Tweek was about to hand it to him as an automatic response but caught himself at last minute, setting it on ground in front of him instead. The boy was looking at Tweek’s rendition of him and reading the jotted behavior notes.

It was discomforting to be peered into. Tweek regarded the journal as a way to validate his own sanity to himself, even if he knew the contents wouldn’t do much in his favor if it were to be found out by others. He figured instead it chronicled a descent to madness if viewed by eyes other than his. Not even his parents knew of his pastimes and Tweek hoped the lie he prepared a long time ago, that the drawings were his interpretations from some of his horror novels he read and movies he’s seen, would hold up.

Many of the faces in old journals he didn’t remember anymore, unless there was a special connection or certain aspect that kept a place in his mind. Some looked as normal that they could pass as part of the living if it weren’t for their translucence while others looked like real life versions of Schiele artwork, with distorted limbs that looked as disturbing as they were captivating.

Tweek thought the boy in front of him would eventually end up like the rest, forgotten for the most part after being added as an entry, as he kept on going as he always had. He wasn’t expecting to be so mistakenly wrong.

“At least you didn’t use a number to refer to me by,” the ghost boy noted after a while. An odd thing to say but it wasn’t like Tweek knew anything of the boy besides having acute observational skills and an impassive-like personality, the latter which he’d written down as one of the things he noticed about him.

Tweek presumed the boy knew more about him than he did the boy.

“What is your name?” he finally asked. He couldn’t keep referring to him as ghost boy or any deviation of it now that both parties were on the same wavelength and Tweek didn’t have to keep pretending. Tweek was even surprised he hadn’t reacted negatively and that he was talking so casually to the boy.

“Craig.”

“I’m Tweek. Tweek Tweak,” he responded, feeling obliged to give his full name even if the boy, _Craig_ , didn’t.

“The same name twice,” Craig muses, immaterial eyes wandering around the room. Tweek kept his gaze on Craig, curious of what he was thinking until he sighed and met his stare. “Well Tweek Tweak this has been lovely, really, but exhausting. I’m calling it a day,” he makes a show of standing up, much to Tweek’s confusion.

“Oh, umm, bye?” he tries, unsure of why he says it in the first place but seeing the corner of Craig’s mouth slightly twitch puts him at ease that the comment wasn’t that out of place before he vanishes, leaving Tweek with nothing but an open bound journal facing away from him to pick up the pieces of whatever just happened alone.

Setting the journal back on top of his legs, he reads back what he’d written so far, almost laughing at some of the details that lead to his cover being blown. _Male. Living in the house we just bought. Maybe 6”1’? Not much shorter than me. Probably. Tried talking to me on the first day but hasn’t tried since. Observant, or at least appears as such. Seems indifferent most of the time. Normal? Or the product of not being alive?? Maybe sixteen too, doesn’t look adultish. Probably hasn’t been dead too long if I had to guess. Doesn’t seem out of it. Has a tendency to show up irregularly, at least that I’ve been able to make out. No lacerations, bruises, or anything like some of the others, or at least that could be seen from afar_. _Maybe was an accident? Appears normal enough. Need to stay away from him._

Grabbing his pencil from where it’d fallen when he’d been called out to a little while ago, Tweek added _Craig_ on top of the sketch before closing the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who bothered to start reading this and to everyone who commented and gave kudos you have my sincere thanks. the one regret i have is posting this up early initially i wanted to have chapters prewritten in order to keep a consistent schedule but i got overexcited and the only time i really have time to write is mainly the weekend so there's no set schedule for updates (sorry)
> 
> i was asked about my tumblr by one of you. my sp sideblog is [tweekwonder](http://tweekwonder.tumblr.com/) and my main is [mintyards](http://mintyards.tumblr.com/). the links are on my profile if you need them so feel free to ask questions or ask for clarification on things especially for future chapters. i also finalized a short [playlist](http://8tracks.com/bonriensis/going-ghost) of songs that make me think/inspire me for this fic so far so check it out if you want.


	3. The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Living faith in everyday life._

Though the Tweaks were a close-knit family – Tweek attributed this to being an only child as well as having similar personal quirks and the same interest in the business they chose to make part of the family – there were few things they did outside their home, their business an extension of it. Attending Sunday mass at least every other week was one of those things. Attention diverted from the father at the front of the church, Tweek resorted to scraping off the paint on his fingernails instead of running his hands through his styled hair. He usually already felt like he had a sign over his head, sitting in what seemed like the center of the congregation was more like a flickering neon sign and he wasn’t having it. He’d finally seen the other teenagers of the town when entering the church; he could still remember some of the looks he got, curious and lingering, enough that he could feel them occasionally as the sermon continued.

The dark moss colored flakes were getting on his pants so he discreetly brushed them off without getting his mom’s attention from where she was sitting next to him.

South Park’s only church was rather small compared to the couple other ones he had been to in the past, but it seemed typical the more he spent time in the little mountain town. St. Dymphna’s Church had been on the opposite side of town so Tweek was able to see more besides the area the coffee shop was at and his neighborhood as they drove through a main road on the way, passing a pond where he saw a barely perceptible silhouette of an elder in a wheelchair looking out at the water, a sight he reminded to journal later. The ride itself wasn’t too long before the building came to view. Like all places of worship it was gaudy in the way most were, with a large entrance and windows, arched in shape with a cross on top and the name carved into a plaque.

Despite all his worries about having to find a way to go about as normally as he could in a small place given his predicament of the ghostly kind, the differences compared to living in a city were fascinating. The most noteworthy was how _fresh_ everything seemed; the air was crisp unlike back in Denver with all the smog and funky streets, some smelling like urine. It made everything placid, something new that Tweek didn’t know what to make of yet.

Everything seemed normal in the way one would look through a curved lens, unchanged in an abnormal way.

Up front, the father stopped talking as a choir made up of people of all ages, including young adults much like he, took the lead and conducted the ceremony. Tweek though it was odd since none of the previous catholic churches his family had been to, a grand total of two, never had any singing. _Maybe it’s a small town thing_ was something he’d been thinking often the more he stayed, and for some reason he couldn’t quite pin was sure it would keep happening.

So far the only changes had been to his surroundings; it wasn’t as if he or his parents changed much – they were still as absent-minded as always. Location had no effect on them.

 

Sunday morning that day the house had been in a small frenzy, or seemed as such as the Tweaks darted around the house trying to get ready. His dad spent a good portion of the morning trying to remember where the keys were, swearing he last left them on the coffee table as his mom told him they were in the kitchen by the fruit. They were both wrong but Tweek was too busy in his room upstairs to offer any helpful input. Eventually they’d figure it out.

Feeling fidgety as he tried to concentrate on tying his tie right for the third time in front of the mirror on his closet door, he noticed the seated figure at the foot of his bed by the familiar cool brush of his skin every time similar phenomena occurred. He hadn’t seen Craig since the incident a couple days ago, an event that still baffled Tweek enough that he found hard to fully grasp why it finally happened and why he wasn’t as bothered as he always though he would be. By his peripheral he noticed Craig taking in his church appropriate appearance but neither said anything as Tweek continued finishing the knot, attempting to even it out for a bit more before ultimately giving up and leaving it as it was, deeming it presentable enough as he turned to face his company who remained silent as he persisted in noticing the effort Tweek had gone though that morning.

“Why aren’t you scared of me,” he finally spoke; a detached curiosity clung to his lacking inquiry.

Tweek hadn’t heard from the nasal-voiced teen since admitting the truth he’s so carefully concealed for years just days ago. Hearing from him now asking a seemingly simple thing so suddenly left him unsure of whether to answer and how much was enough if he did. Truth was always a measured thing with Tweek; he was no liar but he found ways to work around things enough that it’d become easier than being straightforward, sometimes even with himself. A troubling thing indeed but in his experience the more thought and acknowledgement put to something the more power he gave it so he kept his mind at bay, or tried his best to.

Debating over what to say, he figured simple truths were the way to go with Craig. After all, it wasn’t like either had much to gain so there wasn’t harm in _trying_ to talk about it after being the sole keeper of his peculiar disposition. Maybe it would offer some relief. “I’ve been able to see ghosts my whole life,” the words felt heavy as they left his mouth, slow and pronounced.

“Your whole life,” Craig thought it over. “Do your parents know.”

“No. Well, yeah. Kinda, but it’s complicated.”

“Somehow ‘complicated’ seems fitting.”

“What about you, are you really fine with all this? That I can see you. That I can see others.”

“Like I said last time, I’m supposed to be dead but I’m not so it’s not that big a deal, considering,” he made a noncommittal shrug, Tweek guessed to gesture to his own state.

“I guess,” was Tweek’s answer but he wasn’t convinced. How could someone act so indifferent? He knew if he were in Craig’s place finding out someone could be in touch with the dead and was living at his old home he remained tied to would get a reaction that wasn’t comparable to loosing a penny. At the very least Tweek thought it would cause some concern.

“Is it always like this,” Craig asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nevermind,” he let out a frustrated sigh, dropping the matter.

Before deciding whether to ask again he remembered he was meant to be getting ready before he started talking to Craig. Stopping in place, he listened attentively to where his parents were to make sure they hadn’t hear him talking out loud to someone, not that they would hear the other person. Trying to cancel out the beating in his ears he finally heard the soft murmurs of his parents talking to each other somewhere in the house, the soft clacking of his mother’s heels on the wooden floor skirting as if lost or searching for something.

 _That was close._ He generally was on top of maintaining his act but, as he experienced first-hand, it wasn’t panning out so well. This was all new on astronomically different levels: living with a ghost who probably was in a similar boat as he was.

“This is new to me too,” Tweek told him, assuming what Craig had been suggesting was about the paranormal and the cards that had been thrust upon them. “The last time I talked to a dead pe- er, a ghost, was when I was eleven. And even then it was some woman who had been hit by a driver. She wasn’t even aware she died, she was just oblivious and in her own head that she didn’t notice me. But you’re not like that. _Christ,_ we’re going to be living together and I have _no clue_ what I’m doing,” he confessed.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this kind of thing.”

“If there were I would know.” In all that time he’d tried researching what he was, how to handle his skill, and if there were anyone else in the same position he would have come across something as helpful as that. But he’d just been met with more questions than when he started and more skepticism of people’s true nature.

“Well then looks like we just see where this goes. It’s not like I know how to be a fucking ghost anymore than you know how to be a psychic or whatever.”

“I can’t tell the future.”

“What.”

“Psychics guide and can tell the future. I can just see spirits. It’s not the same,” Tweek clarified.

“Okay, then it’s not like you know how to be a _ghost whisperer_. Point is, neither of us signed up for this shit so let’s just deal with it. It’s not like I’m really here most of the time so technically it’s more like visiting whenever, you’ll still have your space to do whatever it is you do.”

“Tweek! You ready yet sweetie? We’re leaving soon so hurry finishing up,” his mom’s voice carried up the stairs. “Yeah I’ll be there in a minute,” he stuck his head out the door to respond before turning back to Craig. “You really think it’ll be that simple?”

“Nope. But it’s not like there’s a better alternative to go about this.”

Tweek nods. “Okay, that’s reasonable. So then I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah.”

Leaving the room to go downstairs where his parents finally managed to find the keys in the mug filled kitchen cabinet, there was some reassurance in their agreement they came to that followed Tweek even as he had gotten inside the car and saw the faint silhouetted figure by his window as they drove away.

 

Tweek didn’t know what to make of Craig. He was cryptic but then again it wasn’t like he was any better himself. As a sort of roommate he wasn’t much, appearing randomly and not for long, something he was appreciative of in case he needed moments of privacy. Prior to what they’d agreed on, Tweek had relied on Craig having some sort of manners intact in the afterlife to not barge in or appear as he’s taking care of certain situations but then again he decided he’d keep it to the bathroom to be safe even after their agreement. Catching his train of though, he put an abrupt end to it, thinking he maybe shouldn’t be contemplating or mentioning these things in His house, not that he was convinced there would be certain consequences to pay for taboo subjects – it was more out of conditioned respect that surrounded being in a place of worship. Tweek didn’t think the holy spirit would appreciate reflecting about dead boys and masturbating while service in His name was taking place, on the off chance He existed and cared about such trite matters.

As much as he didn’t mind coming to church there was a difficulty when it came to believing. He wasn’t even sure how strongly his parents felt about Catholicism. Like most people, religious terms were in his vernacular but he wasn’t a devout worshipper; religious or not, had trouble believing people who made practicing the arts of the spiritual their livelihood from past experiences. Whether it was a force of biblical origins or something ever-present that dealt with extrasensory pseudoscience, there was reluctance in giving credence to what couldn’t help him.

As unbelievable as it was, Tweek was sensible without always making the most sense. He just didn’t know what to make of himself.

Growing up he used to think he was something akin to a changeling, or some other thing that didn’t belong, something not really human because of what he sees yet not extraordinary because that’s the only thing he was capable of. He always found himself in the middle, not wholly able to fit into one extreme. He tried otherworldly sources for answers but never got results even if he kept some tie to one type of faith on his collar. Tweek supposed there could be a god but he didn’t think it mattered at this point in his existence. The only certainty was some people never moved on into whatever followed after life.

It was what made the beaded necklace around his neck feel uncharicaristically heavy every so often.

The sudden rising bodies around him brought his attention back to the service, apparently over as the people started shaking hands with those around them, bringing the hour to a close. Tweek hesitantly shook the hands of the adults nearest him, ending in shaking the hand of his mom before trailing after her as they made their way out of the pews to the backside of the church through the large doors situated nearest the altar, the opposite direction of where they came from. He had an idea of why his parents decided to go out that way, most of the attendees were walking the same direction, and he felt nervous having to mingle among his parents’ friends with a good chunk of the town present as an audience.

Still following his parents as they crossed through the tall doors Tweek kept a short pace, willing time to slow to no avail. Reaching the area his parents stood with a group of other adults, he came to stand besides his mom, who began talking to a short red-haired woman he recognized from the couple of visits she gave them. Sharon? Sheila? He couldn’t remember so well from all the names he’d been given but greeted her when she turned her attention on him, the other adults following suit after and remained silent for most of their conversation, politely giving answers when prompted. Although Tweek’s parents were aloof as can be, it was another thing to have other parents act similarly. He couldn’t quite say what exactly it was that made him think they were similar but it was there the more he heard them talk so casually to one another.

Tweek wasn’t as anxious until the woman, Sheila he remembered now, commented on how he should be making friends with the other kids his age, shooing him in the direction of her son, his mom offering no refusal as she smiled and agreed with Mrs. Broflovski and his dad unable to offer a say as he animatedly talked to the other fathers.

He wondered if there was a way to unexpectedly disappear as he went over to the area where most of the other teenagers were hanging out, near the gate at the end of the church backside. Tweek remembered reading about spontaneous combustion, but that seemed too melodramatic and besides it would probably scar the townsfolk to see a young man suddenly catch fire at church.

Tweek didn’t think it’d be all that pleasant having to smell charred flesh this early in the day.

When he did find the Broflovski boy, not a hard task since he was the only boy with hair like his mother’s, he explained to him and the pack of other guys he’d been made to come say ‘hi’ by both their moms. It was awkward as most first meetings are – or at least to Tweek it was – but Kyle, as he’d introduced himself, seemed nice enough. He had taken the liberty of introducing his other friends there: Stan, Kenny, and Butters, who he had trouble trying to figure out if that was the boy with a scar over his eye’s real name, but he wasn’t one to judge bearing in mind his own homophonic name. They seemed nice enough but Tweek couldn’t help the feeling they were more problematic than they let on.

It didn’t take long before other boys came over, introducing themselves to Tweek as Token, Clyde and Jimmy. As he got to meet more people his age the more he could see a resemblance to the adults that had paid his family visits or ran into. Many of the faces were younger renditions of a mixture of the features of their parents; it was interesting to witness up close. Back in Denver he wasn’t close to – or at least friends with – his classmates to be able to meet their parents and make connections like these. It made Tweek think of how he had his dad’s strong nose that his mom said gave him character and straight hair like his mom’s but that over time waved at the bottom if it got too long as if trying to emulate his father’s curls.

Awkwardly standing with the other boys, he felt no desire to want to stay there. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guys, they seemed fine, but he didn’t like that he had nothing to offer as they kept the conversation on topics he didn’t know or know well enough to have a concrete opinion on. They had been nice enough to not pry and keep as if they’d known each other for some time instead of a couple minutes but Tweek felt as if he were intruding and even more of an outsider as Stan, Kyle, Clyde, and Token went off about what their plans were later and the upcoming season as the others listened and gave their own thoughts. Tweek figured they’d meant sports but by then he wasn’t wholly following the line of communication.

It didn’t help his uneasiness that whenever he’d spare a glance in the direction of a blond in worn clothes that hung from his body he’d been introduced early on as Kenny, he’d see him already looking at him, not saying anything. The name felt vaguely familiar but he had never met anyone by that name before so he tried his best to ignore the sensation of being observed.

The sudden desire for rescue in the form of a divine miracle came to mind but further elaboration was disrupted as he felt an arm lock onto his that made him jump in surprise.

“Sorry to barge in but I’ll be taking him,” everyone’s eyes fell to the figure of a blonde in a collared red dress who barged in as Clyde was saying something about blitzing and gaping, whatever any of that meant. She was smiling but he could tell she wasn’t sorry about the intrusion at all, supported by the undisturbed faces of the other boys, a couple perking up by her appearance, most notably Clyde. Not bothering to hear their response, she drags Tweek in a ragdoll like manner away from them without speaking to him. He was too mystified by her demeanor to refuse so he let her tug him, no doubt an amusing sight for others to see Tweek’s larger frame commandeered by a girl whose thick-braided curly hair bounced against her back as she marched on.

She took him by the corner of the church close to a statue of Mary with candles lit in front of her to where two girls were sitting on a small stone bench engrossed in talking to each other before looking at him and the girl walking towards them. He figured they were their destination as the two girls, a tall redhead and dainty blonde, rose and met them halfway, all stopping in front of each other. “New kid, this is Annie and Red. Wendy and Nichole are the girls over there talking to other people you’ll eventually meet,” the girl released his arm and pointed to a group of other teens gathered around a bench next to the adults away from them but he had no idea who the girls she named were supposed to be. “And I’m Bebe,” his abducting savior told him.

“I’m Tweek,” he said warily; still too perplexed by Bebe’s means of introduction.

“Nice to meet you Tweek,” said the small girl he recognized as one of the choir members by her nebulous short blonde hair.

“Did you kidnap him before you even spoke to him,” the red haired girl addressed Bebe.

“That’s not important,” she gave the girl a smile, to which the other girls shared a look before accepting her response. “So, Tweek, how are you liking South Park so far? We would’ve greeted you sooner but we haven’t really seen you around. The parents, though . . . that’s another story.”

“But we’ve heard nice things. My mom said you were a very polite young man when you came into our store. It’s nice to be able to put a face to the name,” the smaller blonde, Annie he guessed, reassured him. He hadn’t been to many stores in town but she looked so similar to Mrs. Knitts from the antique store, petite and soft spoken, that he figured she was talking about the time the furniture for the café was bought.

“Um, thank you. I’ve just been busy helping out so I haven’t had much time to go out and see the town.” Not a complete lie; he _had_ been occupied with trying to help as much as he could though mainly to prolong having to meet people and originally to avoid being home so he _had_ been busy but by choice.  

“Not much to see unless you go out of South Park,” the girl that had to be Red apathetically said.

“ _Red_ ,” Annie scolded her. “Don’t listen to her, we could show you around sometime if you’re free,” she offered. The abrupt potential plans to spend time with others his age, although considerate, were too sudden and filled him with slight agitation just thinking about it.

“Yeah! It’d be a much better way to hang out than on the back of the church on Sunday. This isn’t exactly an ideal way to get to know each other,” Bebe chimed in.

“Pretty sure it’s _no one’s_ ideal hangout place, unless you count overzealous bible thumpers and repressed couples,” Red added.

“And yet we’re all still here.”

“So! Have you been able to get settled in well?” Annie breaks from her friends’ topic and asks him, trying to change the topic.

“There’s been unexpected things going on but it’s been okay, we’re managing.”

“Including your parent’s store? It’s a coffee shop right? Will you be working there?” Bebe asks.

“Yeah, it’s a coffee shop. My dad says it’ll be open by next weekend since there wasn’t that much we had to do and I do help them run it.”

“Do you get paid,” Red addresses him directly for the first time with the same absence in her question that Tweek was stuck at how to answer.

“What she means is it’s nice that you help your parents run their shop,” Annie intervenes before he can find a response, giving him an apologetic smile, followed by a soft “Oh!” in exclamation as she checks the watch on her wrist.

“Is it time?” Red asks her.

“Yeah,” she sheepishly answers.

“I’ll walk you,” Red tells her and the blonde smiles in appreciation. “Sorry but I have to leave. It was really nice finally meeting you Tweek. Hopefully next time we can all hang out longer and more comfortably,” she smiles as she walks away with Red trailing next to her, who only offered a short “See ya” as she left with the blonde.

“Well, if they’re leaving then that means my parents lost their own buddies. They’ll probably be looking for me so I should go too. We’ll drop by your parent’s shop soon and continue where we left off, kay? See ya!” Bebe tells him as she jogs off, leaving him alone.

Deciding it better to wait for his own parents to call him over, Tweek walks over to the bench he initially saw Annie and Red sharing and takes a seat. Bebe had led him to an area where not many people were around but where you could see others at a distance so he was able to relax without having to worry about being approached. Despite his initial anxiety he thought he managed to handle meeting the other teens he’ll soon be seeing more of rather well after the early apprehensiveness he felt, albeit still dumbfounded by his interaction with the girls. Maybe it was the ambience of sitting someplace sacred early in the morning but he momentarily thought he could manage the upcoming year with not many complications even if he wasn’t certain if things would be like they were before or if moving really did come with drastic changes he was yet to see.

He chose to think on that later.

Tilting his head against the wall behind him, he closes his eyes, diaphragm expanding and contracting as he sighs a breath of momentary relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited teeny tiny things in previous chapters, a couple words here and there so it's not necessary to reread but just thought i'd mention it. i don't edit much so if i ever do after i post i'll say it. anyways sorry for the wait, i'm a great procrastinator . . . but feel free to give me a push in the right direction if i take too long via message on my sp blog if you want


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